3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Shira
The soft fuzziness of my night in room ten stayed with me for a little more than a week. Eight days of going into GoldMed’s office, trying my hardest to keep my late husband’s company afloat when it was sinking so steadily, I couldn’t bail fast enough. Eight days of trying my damnedest to be the confident, fearless leader my employees needed at the helm when that wasn’t me in any way. Eight days of Roman Wells walking the halls, being friendly and amiable with every person but me.
Roman had a reputation in Denver as a shark. He swooped down on companies in need of capital or restructuring and bought up their debt or shares at a rock-bottom price. He often made aggressive moves within the companies he invested in, which ruffled feathers, but on the flip side, he rarely failed to turn those businesses around.
I’d been looking forward to meeting Roman in person, and eight days ago, it happened unexpectedly. My assistant and right-hand woman, Terry, had been out to lunch, so the knock on my office door had surprised me. Roman hadn’t even given me a chance to say “come in” before entering.
From behind my desk, I looked up…and up…and up. Of course, I knew what Roman Wells looked like from photographs, but seeing him in person took me aback. He was tall, six and a half feet if I had to guess, but his grin softened the intimidation factor in the rest of his rugged features.
Well, for most people, it would have. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth, and I seemed to have forgotten what to do with my hands. I didn’t like surprises. Being put on the spot made me freeze and lose track of my brain.
“Hey, sorry to show up unannounced, but I was in the area and thought it would be nice to meet before all the formal introductions at the board meeting.” He strode into my office, still smiling. “I’m Roman.”
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” I looked at my computer, at the calendar that held my appointments. There weren’t many—I handled most things through email—and the few I had had been scheduled well in advance. “Tomorrow at nine. It’s right here.”
He pulled up short. “Right. Like I said, I was in the area—”
I typed his name in today’s slot on my calendar as my heart thudded. What was this reaction? Why was this man’s presence making me feel on the verge of a panic attack? My palms were so sweaty my hand practically slid off my mouse.
“You look busy,” he stated dryly, clearly unimpressed. “Too busy to even tell me your name so I can confirm I’m in the right office.”
Flustered, I looked up from my computer, finding this huge man studying me like a specimen under a microscope. I would have liked to do the same, but not when he was staring back at me.
Averting my gaze, I answered him. “Shira. I’m Shira.”
“Hmmm. Okay, Shira.”
“Okay, Roman,” I echoed, sounding sarcastic even to my ears, which I hadn’t meant. Dear god, why couldn’t my mouth cooperate? I was a disaster.
In my periphery, Roman folded his arms over his broad chest. “I thought we might be able to build a rapport despite what I’ve heard about you. It seems I was mistaken.”
I forced myself to look at him again, my brow raised. I wanted to ask what he’d heard, though, in truth, I wasn’t certain I could handle hearing it. Being called things like “ice queen,” “cold,” “boring,” and “void of personality” even once was enough for a lifetime. After ten or twenty times, it was impossible not to take to heart.
I took so long to think of how to reply, Roman shifted on his feet, exhaling heavily through his nose. If only I could explain I didn’t do well with surprises. I needed time to prepare for conversations with new people—especially six-and-a-half-foot men with hands that could crush a small sedan and faces so roughly hewn they could have been carved from a boulder. This man was so outrageously handsome, I would have needed even more time than usual to prepare.
“If you’ll schedule a meeting with Terry, we can speak then.”
Oh no. That sounded much more formal than I meant it to. From the way Roman chuffed, he felt the same way.
“That’s how it’s going to be, Mrs. Goldman?”
I flinched at the bite in his tone. “It’s just Shira,” I murmured, flicking my gaze back to his, hoping he’d see the plea for understanding there. “My schedule…it’s—”
He raised his hand, halting me. “I heard you loud and clear, Shira. If I need to speak to you again, I’ll talk to Terry.” Backing toward the exit, he slowly shook his head. Once he reached the doorway, he tapped on the frame. “I knew Frank a long time ago. He played a pivotal role in the direction of my life so I have a soft spot for GoldMed. Do you even care about this company?”
It was Frank’s legacy. I had to care about it. For him. He’d turned my life around when I was spiraling. Offered me shelter and companionship when I’d been all alone in the world. Married me so I’d always have the security I’d lacked during the first part of my life.
I could have said all those things, but all that came out was: “I do.”
He brought his hand to his jaw, which was heavy and squared off in the corners. “We’ll see, Shira. We’ll see.”
Our first meeting had set the tone of my relationship with Roman Wells. Over the last week, every time we spoke, I’d put my worst foot forward. I just couldn’t seem to stop doing it, and it drove me to the brink. Even worse, all my warm fuzziness had evaporated, and room ten was becoming nothing more than a distant memory.
Terry poked her head in my office, knocking me out of my thoughts. “Conference room in five. Do you need anything before the meeting?”
I shook my head. “No. I have my notes prepared. I think I’m good.”
My assistant leaned against the doorjamb, one hand on her hip as she surveyed me. “He would understand if you didn’t do this.”
I shook my head. “I made a promise.”
Terry sighed. “A promise he shouldn’t have extracted from you. I could throttle that man…”
Terry had been Frank’s assistant for twenty-five years. She’d known me since I came into his life ten years ago and was the only person who understood what our marriage had been from the beginning. Frank had trusted her with everything, and now, I did too. In her sixties, she should have retired a few years ago, but she was sticking around for me. I should have told her to go, but there was no way I’d get through a day at GoldMed without her.
“You couldn’t,” I said.
She cocked her head. “Couldn’t what?”
“Throttle him. No body, after the cremation…”
She stared at me for a beat then slapped her thigh and snickered. “That’s highly irreverent, Mrs. Goldman.”
Grinning, I pushed up from my seat and snagged my tablet. “What’s the use of being a widow if I can’t make dead-husband jokes?”
She put her arm around my shoulders when I reached her. “You have a point. That man claimed most of your twenties. It’s only fair you get some laughs out of it.”
“Frank was your friend,” I reminded her.
“He was. That doesn’t mean I agreed with everything he did. I’m no yes-woman. That’s why he kept me around for so long.”
I leaned into her. “That, and you know every one of his secrets. Can’t fire someone with all that blackmail material.”
She huffed. “Please. As if anyone would ever fire me.”
“I wouldn’t, I know that.”
One more squeeze, and she let me go. “I know that too. Let’s go conquer this meeting.”
The meeting with the executive team had gone as well as it could have, considering the circumstances. I’d prepared what I’d wanted to say, but Roman had managed to cut me off several times, disrupting my train of thought, and when he’d asked me questions, I’d either answered him curtly or allowed Terry to take over.
So…yes, it had gone as well as it could have, further cementing Roman’s ill opinion of me.
In my hurry to vacate the conference room, I’d left my phone behind. Terry was busy when I made the discovery a few minutes later, so I ventured back on my own, certain the room would be empty by now.
As I approached, Mike Dietrich, GoldMed’s CFO, emerged, halting me in my tracks. I pressed myself into the nearby alcove, allowing him to pass without having to make polite small talk—something I’d gleaned he disliked as much as I did. Mike was all business and numbers. People weren’t his thing. He only dealt with us because he was required to. I would have explained he didn’t have to engage in niceties with me, but I thought it was easier for both of us to simply hide away until he passed.
When I came out of the shadows, Roman was standing in the doorway of the conference room, staring straight at me, a bold line carved between his brows and a disapproving scowl pulling at his mouth.
Sucking in a deep breath, I started toward him. If I hadn’t needed my phone, I would have abandoned it rather than go near him, but I had no choice.
“Excuse me.” I went to tuck my hair behind my ear then remembered it was pulled back in a bun, as it always was at work. Instead, I smoothed my hand over the side and checked my earring was still in place. “I seem to have left my phone behind.”
“I noticed.” He unfolded his arms, revealing my phone clutched in his massive mitt. “You were in such a rush to get away from everyone you forgot it.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t rushing to get away from everyone. It’s that—”
“You ducked into the shadows, so you didn’t have to speak to Mike. What kind of environment do you think that behavior fosters, Mrs. Goldman—when the CEO won’t even wave hello to her CFO as she passes him?”
“It isn’t that, and please, call me Shira.”
I’d never been Mrs. Goldman. Officially, yes, but only because Frank had wanted me to have the protection his last name offered. The name had felt like a piece of ill-fitting clothing, never settling on me like it should have. If not for GoldMed, I would have gone back to my maiden name, just as my mother had when she left my father. I’d always thought Shira Saltzman had a ring to it.
Roman shook his head and heaved a sigh. “I can’t figure you out.”
I swallowed hard, wishing he’d give me my phone so I could go. “I understand.”
“Do you? From what I’ve seen, you give maybe three or four people the time of day, and everyone else might as well not exist. A lot of work needs to be done to pull GoldMed out of the hole it’s in, and I don’t know if you see that.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. He had his chin tipped down, giving me his full attention. It was weighty. Filled with judgment and something more…something that felt a lot like ire. This man really didn’t like me. Frank might’ve dug the hole GoldMed was in, but where Roman was concerned, I was fully responsible for the one I was in. The thing was, I couldn’t figure out how to claw myself out.
“Of course I see it.” I straightened, hoping to appear more confident than I was. “More than anyone else.”
He chuffed, his eyes rolling to the side. They were brown, chocolaty. I’d seen how warm they could be when he was laughing with others, joking with Terry, greeting Rita, the floor’s receptionist, but I’d never once gotten that. Roman had come to GoldMed with an opinion of me, and I’d only helped cement it with each passing day.
“Considering you won’t even have a conversation with your CFO, I doubt that,” he stated.
“Mike and I speak often. We both find it more efficient to email and text through the interoffi—”
“Efficiency is important to you, isn’t it? You and your efficient calendar.” He refolded his arms, tucking my phone underneath again. “Do you know, after my father died, Frank wrote me several letters over the years?”
A knot sprung from my belly to my throat, making it impossible to reply with words. Of course I knew. I was well-acquainted with those letters.
I simply nodded, and Roman went on. “There was a time I was floundering, and Frank offered me advice on the direction I took my life and business. One of the many things he told me to never forget was the human element behind the bottom line. The thing is, human connection isn’t always efficient, but it can lead to exponential growth. If the people who work for you feel connected to the person in charge of them, they will do a better job to please them. From what I’ve seen, Shira, you don’t have that.”
Roman had been in this office for two weeks and thought he knew the entire picture. In truth, he’d come in with a preconceived notion about what he would find and had let that color everything he’d observed. He didn’t see my friendly chats with Mike through interoffice texting. He hadn’t been in the room during my weekly lunches with Annabelle from HR. And he definitely didn’t know when Gabriela from marketing had come to work with a poorly covered black eye. I’d held her hand while she filed a police report against her boyfriend and had hired a bulldog lawyer to keep her safe.
None of those things meant I was perfect. I was drowning in my position and absolutely miserable. But my promise to Frank superseded my discomfort. I would see our agreement through by the letter until it became impossible.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I replied, my tongue too tangled to say anything in my own defense. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like my phone back, please.”
With a deep sigh, Roman scanned me as if he were trying to see inside me. If only he could see the panic his intrusive studying initiated in my limbic system, but I knew from experience I looked cool as a cucumber. My eyes hardened, and my expression vanished. Like a deer caught in headlights, my brain had decided on the path of least resistance—allowing the oncoming traffic to plow into me. Fight or flight wasn’t an option for me. I was a frozen little cube of ice.
And all Roman could see was the ice.
With a look of derision, he unfolded his arms and held out my phone. Before I could bring my arm up to take it from him, he brought it back into him, clutching it against his chest. “Did Frank ever mean anything to you? Anything at all?”
With that blindingly awful question, the tethers of my panic snapped, sending a rush of blood and heat to my cheeks. I stepped close enough to snatch my phone from him and skittered back out of his reach.
“What a horrific thing to ask me,” I whispered.
For once, my body did what I needed it to do. I fled from the scene of the crime in a hurry. Roman uttered my name followed by a curse, but I didn’t turn back or stop until I made it to my office. There, I leaned against my door, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat and nausea swirling in my gut.
I’d thought Roman Wells would be the savior GoldMed desperately needed, and maybe he would be. At this point, he was our only hope of coming back from the brink of disaster. But after that conversation, my eyes were open. In the process of saving GoldMed, Roman might willingly destroy me.